


Master of Discipline #1: Caught Red Handed

by EmilaWanKenobi



Category: Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-20
Updated: 2014-05-20
Packaged: 2018-01-25 20:22:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1661282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmilaWanKenobi/pseuds/EmilaWanKenobi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Obi-Wan gets caught spying on you and Qui-Gon, and he learns a lot more than</p>
            </blockquote>





	Master of Discipline #1: Caught Red Handed

**Author's Note:**

> I've written this as an ABH (anywhere but here) story, which means most of it is

|  [Master Apprentice](http://www.masterapprentice.org/html/index.html) [Archive](http://www.masterapprentice.org/html/archive.html) Master of Discipline #1: Caught Red Handed  | 

Quick search:   
  
---|---  
  
## Master of Discipline #1: Caught Red Handed 

### by Emila-Wan Kenobi 

    

Feedback: Oh, give it to me baby ... [emila_wan@yahoo.com](mailto:emila_wan@yahoo.com)

Archive: M_A. Others please ask. Also archived at <http://www.jediphiles.com/index69.htm>

Category: PWP, ABH, Sammich 

Rating: NC-17 

Spoilers: none 

Summary: Obi-Wan gets caught spying on you and Qui-Gon, and he learns a lot more than he bargained for. 

Disclaimer: George Lucas is da man. He owns everything. We just play. 

Warnings: Explicit heterosexual sex scenes. A bit of mild discipline. Shall I spoil it by also mentioning there is voyeurism and three-way sex? Also, if you're suspicious enough to be counting on your fingers looking for Underage!Obi, rest assured he is of age, if just barely, in this story. 

Series: Master of Discipline. This is the first of several planned in this series. 

Note: I've written this as an ABH (anywhere but here) story, which means most of it is in YOUR point of view. That's why the woman isn't described. Please forgive any liberties I might take with your personal tastes, etc. [g] In my world your name is Lezli, and you are a Jedi Knight. (You are also six feet tall, with dishwater blonde hair, an engaging smile, and an affinity for small mammals, but you can ignore that if you like. [g]) 

Dedication: To my beloved padawan. You are the inspiration and star of this series, and my foremost muse in all my creative endeavors. May this little bit of smut bring you much joy, and may your batteries never run low! [eg] 

    

_Prologue_

__Where was that boot polish?_

_Obi-Wan dropped to his hands and knees and rooted through the back of his master's surprisingly disorganized closet, shoving aside battered carry-bags and old, worn-out boots before reaching into the pitch blackness to feel for the little canister. His master had borrowed Obi-Wan's boot polish a few weeks before and had not returned it. Now he needed it -- he was already behind schedule. Obi-Wan had accepted an invitation to attend a function at the Republic Senate Rotunda with a very attractive entry-level diplomat from Derra IV, and he wanted to make a good impression._

_At last his fingers found the cool metal, and he grasped it with a triumphant, "Ah hah!"_

_Something skittered across his knuckles. He flinched back involuntarily, kicking the slatted folding door closed and cutting off most of what feeble light he'd had to start with. He mumbled a curse under his breath and scooted around on his knees to grasp the door and pull it open._

_Just as his fingers wrapped around the edge of a thin slat, his master's chamber door flew open and Qui-Gon entered, pulling a woman in with him. Obi-Wan recognized her as Lezli, a Knight among his master's circle of friends whom he'd only met that morning. She was reputed to be extremely empathic, but often got herself in trouble with the council for her "creativity" in interpreting the Code. She was almost as susceptible to the draw of pathetic life forms as Qui-Gon himself, which Obi-Wan supposed explained their friendship despite their differences in age and rank. His master didn't look at all friendly now, however. Qui-Gon's face was grim, and his grip on his companion's biceps looked tight enough to leave bruises. He practically flung Lezli onto the bed, where she sat with her head bent, silent. Qui-Gon took a seat in the chair opposite and crossed his arms, regarding her sternly. "What am I going to do with you?" his master said huskily._

_Obi-Wan froze. He had never heard that tone of voice coming from his master, and he wondered what it meant. No matter how angry Qui-Gon had become with him over the years, he'd never manhandled him the way he'd done Lezli. Obi-Wan knew he should make his presence known and retreat. Each second he hesitated would only get him into deeper and deeper trouble. But his curiosity won out over his prudence, and he remained where he was, tightening his shields and drawing on the Force to remain undetected.__

    

_Earlier That Morning_

You'd had a surprise as you entered your favorite training hall -- Qui-Gon Jinn had returned, and was sparring with a very attractive young Knight. No, a padawan, by his braid. You hadn't seen Qui-Gon in more than five years, back when he'd still been hurting from Xanatos's betrayal. Time -- or more likely his padawan, you suspected -- had certainly done a lot to clear the devastation from his eyes. He was looking fitter and happier than you had seen him since ... well, since both of you had been very much younger and, if not in love, at least loving enough to be in lust and not at all ashamed to enjoy it. 

The two men moved through their ritual combat forms in a blur of motion, connected through the Force in a way even a bonded pair might envy. It was a mark of the apprentice's skill that he was still standing; you had sparred with Jinn before, and you knew he held nothing back. Jinn was magnificent, of course, radiating quiet power as he parried and thrust in economic grace. He was tall, slender, all lean muscle, sweat making the skin of his chest gleam where it peeked from the V of his tunics. Watching him, you were bemused to feel heat and moisture swelling the flesh between your legs. You took a deep breath and deliberately turned your eyes to the other man. 

The apprentice, in contrast to his master, was all fire and motion, utilizing to the full the aerial forms and aggressive attacks so many of the young favored. Yet, he, too, radiated power, and sexuality; so much so that you found yourself biting your lip as you watched. You had to raise hasty shields lest your desire be broadcast to every Jedi in the hall. 

The apprentice was circling his master now, almost stalking, both of them breathing heavily but not truly winded. And oh, the way that young man moved. He gave his master a cocky smile that stopped your heart cold. 

Just then the apprentice feinted, whirled, took to the air, and came down behind Qui-Gon's defenses, stopping with his blade millimeters from the master's throat. Qui-Gon laughed and turned to playfully strike the apprentice's blade away, saying, "Well done." 

As the two men powered down their lightsabers and bowed to each other, you approached. "Qui-Gon!" 

He turned, his smile spreading even wider when he saw you. "Lezli!" He held out his arms, and you let him engulf you in a firm hug. His tunics were rough and wet with sweat, that peculiar clean and spicy scent he had after a good workout -- or a long session of lovemaking. The feel and the smell of him did nothing to calm your raging libido, and after a moment you pulled away, feeling slightly flushed. 

"Lezli, this is my padawan," he said. 

You turned to the younger man, who was waiting respectfully a pace behind his master. You smiled. "Ah, the infamous Obi-Wan Kenobi. Qui-Gon only said you were capable; he didn't tell me you could best him in sparring!" 

He grasped your offered hand, giving you a cheeky grin. "That's because it's never happened before." The sound of that mellifluous voice sent another frisson of desire down your spine, making you reckless. 

"And he definitely didn't tell me how delectable you are," you found yourself saying, and then blushed, much to your chagrin. Jedi Knights do __not__ blush, you told yourself frantically. 

Obi-Wan merely lifted an eyebrow and leaned forward as if to whisper in your ear. "I don't think he's noticed." 

Qui-Gon merely laughed and slung an arm around you. "Lunch with us, Lezli?" His thumb brushed your shoulder, the warmth and pressure building the tension in you even higher. 

You were therefore surprised to hear your voice coming out comparatively calm. "I'd be delighted. We have a lot of catching up to do, old friend." 

"Good," he said, and his eyes seemed to smolder as he looked at you. Oh, yes, this was the Qui-Gon you remembered -- vital and fit and happy and very, very sexy. That look was a promise, one you intended on making him keep. 

"Master," Obi-Wan said diffidently, and bowed his head. "If you don't mind ... I have a date tonight, and I have a few errands ..." 

"Go ahead then, Obi-Wan. You're free until tomorrow." 

"Thank you, Master." Obi-Wan bowed to both of them, then turned toward the showers. He stopped short after only a few steps, and turned back. "Oh! Master ..." 

Qui-Gon had been guiding you toward the door. At the sound of Obi-Wan's voice he stopped and closed his eyes. "Yes, Padawan?" 

"I'll need that boot polish you borrowed. Do you know where it is?" 

"Somewhere in my closet, I expect." If you didn't know better, you'd have thought the master was fighting back a wave of impatience. 

"All right then. Thank you, Master." 

"Enjoy yourself, Padawan," he said, as he started walking again. Then he looked into your eyes, and what you saw made you weak in the knees. " __I__ certainly hope to." 

    

You take a sip of bitter Alderaan Ale as you finished the story of your last five years in the Corporate Sector. "It was a good assignment, but I'm glad to be back." 

Qui-Gon reaches across the table and takes your hand. "I'm glad to have you back. You're one of the few who's managed to keep in touch over the years." 

"I felt guilty, you know. Leaving you during your darkest hour, so to speak." 

"It wasn't your choice," he says softly. "And at any rate, my self-pity and self-absorption would have soon driven you away." 

"No --" 

He presses a finger to your lips. Its warmth sends a jolt through your over-sensitized flesh. You close your eyes and shiver involuntarily. "Yes," he says softly. "But I'd like to get to know you all over again." 

You open your eyes and look up at him. What you see there makes your mouth go dry. 

"Please tell me you aren't involved with anyone else," he says softly. 

You shake your head and give him a shy grin. "After you, nobody else could ... measure up." You grin at the pun, but he seems not to notice. 

He draws back, takes a sip of his ale, and speaks in a normal tone, though the words are charged with longing. "I assumed you'd move on, you know. Especially after the way I treated you. So I tried to move on as well. But no one understood my needs so well as you did. I've missed you ... __Force__ ..." 

You see tears standing in his eyes. He looks away, staring up at the ceaseless traffic of Coruscant's skies, and you take his hand. It dwarfs yours, the fingers thick and callused. You press the knuckles to your lips, softly, and you hear his breath hitch, but his shields are so strong you can't tell if it's from sorrow or desire. You turn the hand over and kiss the palm firmly, then the wrist, then each finger pad, one by one. 

His dark blue eyes are on you now, and they are smoldering. You grin, then plunge his index finger all the way into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it, then slowly pulling it out while scraping your teeth delicately along the underside. You take his middle finger and give it the same treatment. 

He closes his eyes, breathing heavily, and you realize you are panting slightly as well. The flesh between your legs is once again swollen, slick with moisture, aching for him to stroke it, fill it. You wonder if he is as affected as you are, and you decide to find out. With a touch of help from the Force you slide your boot off, then lift your foot to glide up his calf and down the inside of his thigh, never quite reaching his crotch. You press firmly, stroking each time a little closer to your goal, and he allows it, though he still has not opened his eyes. You take another finger into your mouth and lave it, bite it, suck it in and out in time to the rhythm of your foot. 

This is an old game of yours, teasing him in public, trying to get him to lose control in front of strangers. Your foot finds it goal at last, and you press your arch firmly against an impressive bulge in his trousers. 

He pulls his hand gently from your grasp and takes another sip of his ale, then stares at the skyline again. "You are misbehaving," he murmurs. 

Your foot massages him through the thin cloth, and you feel his hips shift involuntarily in response. "What are you going to do about it ... Master Jinn?" 

He plunks down his ale, takes you by the wrist, and stands, dragging you to your feet. "I think you need a lesson in manners," he says, and tosses a few credits on the table. "Let's go." He pulls you along, and you stumble to keep up while trying to jam your foot into your boot. 

His forcefulness sends a tight thrill of lust through you. This is what you have been missing; this is what you crave -- a man who desires you enough to take charge, take control, overmaster you with his need and conquer you with his skill. No other man you'd ever met could give you that. Yes, you had met many kind, good men with not inconsiderable skill as lovers, but none of them had the passion and the sheer force of will it took to make you feel truly desirable. Only Qui-Gon Jinn had ever given you that. 

You walk hand-in-hand the two kilometers or so it takes to get to the Temple. All the while you say nothing, just glance at him occasionally to gauge his mood. His shields are still strong, but his stiff gait and quick breathing tell you enough. The anticipation is delicious -- for both of you. It always has been. 

You enter the Temple and get on a lift. As the door closes he is on you. You are lucky to be only a few inches shorter than he, but still he bows your back with the force of his need. His lips crush against yours, tongues clashing and exploring. His mouth tastes of the bitter ale and his own sweet flavor. His hands cup your breasts, pinching the nipples hard, then slide down and grasp your hips, pressing your pubic bone into his rock-hard erection. Both of you moan at that, and the sound sends your heart racing. His hands come up to cup your face, then move to stroke your arms, your back, everywhere, sensitizing every inch of your flesh to his touch, his breath. He tongues the lobe of your ear and you arch into him, fumbling at his belt. 

He backs away a step. "Ah-ah-ah," he chides, and straightens his robe. The lift stops, and you follow him off, nodding serenely at the few Jedi in the dorm hallways this time of day. The challenge of shielding such strong emotions in a building full of Jedi had always given you both a thrill. It was one of the many reasons you've been branded as troublemakers by the council. 

You reach his door at last, and he palms open the lock. Once it closes behind you, he pushes you to the wall and takes up where he left off in the elevator. But when you try again to remove his belt, he takes your hands in a steel grip. 

"Have you been naughty?" he breathes in your ear. His other hand is making slow circles on your breasts. 

Oh, so he is in __that__ kind of mood. The thought of it makes you feel weak in the knees. "Yes, Master," you say demurely, and bow your head. 

"What have you done. Tell me." His fingers are kneading you now, distracting you from what you want to say. 

"I ... ah, oh ... I teased you in public." 

"Yes, you did." He pinches a nipple, drawing a gasp from you. "That was very, very bad. What else did you do?" 

__Something else?__ You search your memories, trying to ignore the hand that slides beneath your tunics. What else could you have done to merit punishment? You had only just this morning met him again ... __Oh!__

The hand makes its way down beneath your waistband. His fingers sink into your swollen, slick flesh. "I ... oh, Master, please ... that feels so good ..." 

He strokes mercilessly. "Tell me," he growls. 

"I ... uh ... I flirted ... with your ... oh, yes ... with your apprentice," you gasp. 

He withdraws his hands from you and takes a step back. You almost reel at the sudden lack of contact, then you drop to your knees. "I'm sorry, Master." 

He very deliberately inhales the scent of you from his fingers, then licks them clean. At last he says, "Do you want him?" 

The question startles you, but you answer truthfully. "He __is__ very desirable." 

"I asked, do you want him?" 

"Not if I've got you." 

That is apparently not the answer he wants to hear. He grabs you by the biceps and pulls you to your feet, tugging you toward his bedchamber. Just before he opens the door, he tugs your face up to his and kisses you fiercely. He draws back, and his eyes lock with yours. "Same rules as always," he whispers, and you nod. 

You know he will never do anything you don't want. You can stop the game at any time. And it __is__ a game. Only the genuine affection and trust you have for each other allows you to find release through this type of roleplaying. In this, you are well matched. You had never found another man who understood this need, and had the force of will and strength to master you. 

He opens the door and pulls you through, shoving you to the bed and taking a seat across from you. You bow your head submissively. He crosses his arms. "What am I going to do with you?" 

"I ... I submit myself to be punished, Master." 

"Very well. Stand." 

You obey him, eyes still downcast, but you sense his gaze upon you. "Strip," he orders. 

You comply immediately, taking off the various layers of the uniform with as much grace as possible, but not showing off. Any delay would be seen as disobedience. 

Very soon you are naked, your clothes in a neat pile on the side table. Your nipples stand out from your body in rigid testament to your excitement. 

"Face down. On my lap." 

You step next to him and kneel, placing your torso over his thighs. He shifts a bit to get you situated just right, then rubs a warm hand over the globes of your bottom. 

"This is for teasing me," he says, and pops your bottom with a swift, hard smack. Then another, and another. Your already sensitized skin burns, but the pain radiates immediately to your crotch as a sweet, almost unbearable ache. By the time he has reached twenty blows you are writhing and sobbing, resisting the urge to beg him to stop, to keep going, anything, anything. Your wriggling brings you in contact with the rigid pole in his trousers, and you rub your hipbone unashamedly against it, longing to take it deep within your folds. You can smell his arousal, musky, hot. The sensations he brings to you are better and more addictive than any drug, and you are lost in them. 

The blows stop, and his hand caresses your stinging flesh, the heat sending another wave of desire through you. "Oh, Master," you moan, and arch your bottom into his touch. His thick finger dips lower, sliding across the swollen slickness of your labia, brushing your clitoris before sliding up and in, deep and hard, hitting your sweet spot and making you jerk with pleasure. "Oh, yes!" you cry. He pistons his finger in and out of you in slow, deliberate strokes. His hips begin to move with the rhythm, thrusting his hard, hot cock against your hip, his eyes closed, his breath shallow. 

"This," he breathes, punctuating each phrase with a thrust, "is for flirting ... with my ... apprentice ... you naughty ... naughty ..." 

It is too much for you, and with a gasped, "Master!" you are coming, shaking all over, completely helpless and vulnerable as your limbs spasm and your brain overloads with the white lightning of pleasure. 

You are surprised to feel yourself falling. What an odd, new sensation, you think, before you hit the floor and realize Qui-Gon has stood abruptly, dumping you from his lap. 

His lightsaber is in his hand, and he is staring at his closet. 

"What is it?" you breathe, trying to calm yourself enough to bring the Force to bear and summon your own lightsaber. 

"A noise," he says grimly. He flicks his hand toward the closet, and the door slides open. 

Inside you are startled to see his apprentice. Obi-Wan is on his knees, bare except for his smallpants, sporting an impressive erection which bobs ponderously over the top of his waistband. His hands clench involuntarily at his sides. On his face is a look of total horror so comical you must use all your control not to laugh. You turn away your face, but not before the sight of his naked, well-muscled body is burned forever into your consciousness. 

    

__"I ... I submit myself to be punished, Master."_

_Obi-Wan could hardly believe this Lezli was the same reckless, headstrong woman he'd heard so much about. Why would she be asking for punishment from Qui-Gon, instead of the council? And why were they in Qui-Gon's chambers? Was this some sort of Jedi ritual of which he was ignorant?_

_"Very well. Stand." His master's voice had never sounded so stern. Then, as she obeyed, he continued, "Strip."_

_She shed her clothes neatly and quickly, revealing a very tall, very fit body with just enough curves to send Obi-Wan's pulse up another notch. Her nipples stood out from her chest, elongated and pink, and the sight made his groin twitch with sudden need. Oh, but he should __ not __ be here. He should reveal himself and flee before things could go any further. He should, he should ..._

_"Face down. On my lap," his master said._

_She complied, and from where he watched, Obi-Wan had a perfect view of her rounded bottom and the glistening mound of flesh between her legs. His master's hand roamed over her buttocks, and Obi-Wan found his hand dipping of its own accord into his smallpants to grasp a painfully full erection. This was no Jedi ritual. This was his master's most private behavior with a lover, and Obi-Wan had no doubt that he would never be forgiven if he were discovered now. He regretfully pulled his hand free and forced himself to remain still._

_"This is for teasing me," his master said, and smacked Lezli's bottom. Obi-Wan flinched ever so slightly, and his cock jerked. He bit his lip to keep from moaning. The blows kept coming, in a regular rhythm, and Obi-Wan's hand drifted again to stroke his member in synch._

_At last the blows stopped, and Obi-Wan froze as he watched his master's hand caress the reddened flesh. Lezli was writhing now, almost sobbing. Obi-Wan nearly sobbed himself as he saw one of his master's fingers plunge into Lezli's slit. "This is for flirting with my apprentice," Qui-Gon panted, his eyes nearly closed, his hips moving against her almost frantically. Obi-Wan sensed himself near the edge of losing control and forced himself to slow down, biting back a gasp of frustration. Just then Lezli's moans turned to cries of ecstasy as she climaxed, hard. Obi-Wan let out an involuntary moan and his other hand, which had been gripping the forgotten tin of boot polish, spasmed open. The tin hit the floor with a muffled clank._

_Obi-Wan jerked his hand out of his pants and froze. After that, everything seemed to happen in slow motion. His master rose instantly, calling his lightsaber to hand and igniting it in one smooth split-second. Lezli tumbled to the floor. Obi-Wan saw a circle of wetness spreading on the front of his master's trousers and realized he was coming even as he stood. He might have admired his master's level of control if Qui-Gon hadn't at that moment sent a tendril of Force to slide the door open. Light poured into the closet, and like a nerf caught in a tracker's flashbeam, Obi-Wan could do nothing but stare and await his doom.__

    

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon says calmly, and extinguishes his lightsaber. "What is the meaning of this?" You can detect nothing of the master's emotions behind his firm shields. 

"Master, I apologize. I ..." He is desperately tucking himself back into his pants. 

"Never mind. I don't care. There is no explanation that could suffice." 

"Yes, Master. But ..." 

"Be silent." 

You suppress a chuckle, and Qui-Gon turns his glare upon you. "Do you find this amusing?" 

"No, Master," you say, and avert your gaze as you hurriedly scramble to your knees. 

"Come here, Obi-Wan." 

The apprentice jumps to his feet and comes to stand at arm's length from his master. 

Qui-Gon points to the bed. "Sit." 

Obi-Wan obeys, silently, and rests his hands palm-up on his bare thighs. You can feel dread and shame and stark fear emanating from him, and it stirs your compassion. 

"Qui-Gon," you begin. "It's okay, really --" 

"Be silent!" he roars. You are no longer certain this is part of the game, but you comply. He turns on his apprentice. "Do you make a habit of lurking in closets and masturbating ut his eyes hold no humor. "Do you want to touch her, taste her, bury your cock in her hot, tight body and thrust until you make her scream with pleasure?" 

Obi-Wan swallows again. Out of the corner of your eye you see that his cock is still rigid, his hands flexing helplessly. "Not without her consent," he says softly, then flinches his eyes closed as if he fears a blow. 

"You like to watch," Qui-Gon says, and leans back, "then watch." He snaps his fingers at you. "Pleasure me," he commands. 

You immediately move to comply, deftly freeing his softened cock from the sticky cloth and taking it to the root in your mouth. He sucks air through his teeth as you lick him clean. You begin to work him in earnest, striving to make him come as quickly as possible. This has always been one of your favorite tasks. It turns you on like nothing else can, to know you are giving him such pleasure. Your tongue swirls and dips as your hot mouth plunges over and over, taking him deep into your throat and sucking as you pull away. In almost no time he is fully hard again. You run a hand down over his balls and cup them, then further still, pressing on the hardening root below his sac. He groans and grips your shoulders, pulling you up his body to his embrace and kissing you fervently. 

You hear Obi-Wan's labored breathing behind you, which only excites you more. To think that this gorgeous young man is getting turned on by watching you pleasure Qui-Gon ... it's enough to make you almost dizzy with arousal. 

Qui-Gon pulls back and gives you a predatory smile. With chagrin, you realize you were broadcasting that last thought, and you wonder if he is angry. He leans forward to whisper in your ear, "It seems you need more discipline than I can give you." 

Does he mean what you think he means? 

Without letting you go he gestures to Obi-Wan, who drops to his knees next to his master's chair. "Obi-Wan, Lezli has been very, very naughty. Would you like to help me discipline her?" 

Obi-Wan looks at you shyly. "Oh, yes, Master," he whispers. 

Qui-Gon stands abruptly. "Then strip, Obi-Wan, and lie down on the bed." 

"M ... Master?" 

"Now, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon sighs. "Or I shall have to discipline you, too." His voice holds amusement, but his words galvanize Obi-Wan into action. Soon the apprentice is sprawled on the bed, looking nervous and vulnerable. 

Qui-Gon urges you toward the bed. "Hands and knees," he orders. You crawl up and hover over Obi-Wan, who looks up at you with a combination of lust and terror. "I'm going to give you fifty strokes while you pleasure him with your mouth," Qui-Gon says. "But if you come, or if you let him come, I'll have to take more drastic measures. With both of you." 

Fifty strokes? You dip your head and flick your tongue over the tip of Obi-Wan's red and swollen cock. He jerks and moans in response. As aroused as this young man is, five strokes ought to do it. Leave it to Qui-Gon to make sex into some kind of lesson in Jedi control. 

The bed dips behind you, and you feel Qui-Gon's hands spread you as the blunt head of his cock rests at your opening. Then you are being wonderfully stretched and filled by his hot length. He pushes until he is buried completely, moaning and clenching your hips with bruising strength. "Force, you are so tight," he gasps. 

In answer you tighten your muscles internally, drawing another moan from him. Fifty strokes, eh? Perhaps not even the great Master Jinn will be able to hold off that long if you have anything to say about it. 

He pulls out and thrusts back in again, hard. "That's one," he says. "Don't forget your other task." 

You bend and run your tongue up the underside of Obi-Wan's cock, tasting his musky essence. His eyes roll closed and he clutches the blanket, groaning deeply. Oh, yes, he is close. You switch to less direct stimulation, kissing and biting along the insides of his thighs. His hips buck, and a pleading wail escapes him. Qui-Gon is pumping into you in a steady, slow rhythm, hitting that sweet spot deep inside. The taste and smell and feel and above all, the moans of the two men are bringing you dangerously close to the edge already. 

"Twenty," Qui-Gon gasps, and you flick your tongue along Obi-Wan's shaft again. He is pleading now, grasping at your hair, his body arching in desperate need. You pull away, and he cries out at the loss. Then you use the momentum of Qui-Gon's next thrust to lean forward and capture Obi-Wan's mouth with yours. 

He grasps your shoulders in a steel grip, thrusting his tongue into your mouth in time to Qui-Gon's pumping. Your arms collapse, and you are pinned between them, being penetrated at both ends. Obi-Wan's mouth is sweet. His hair and skin smell of soap and spice. He makes little mewling sounds as his hands dig through your hair, and then his eyes open and he pins you with a crystal green stare. For one frozen moment you are lost. 

Then Qui-Gon thrusts into you hard from behind, pushing your hips into Obi-Wan's groin, grinding the younger man's hard length along your slick folds. Both of you groan aloud at the sensation. Qui-Gon's weight is crushing you against Obi-Wan, and his breath is hot on the back of your neck. "Forty-five," he breathes, and bends to suck on the join of your neck and shoulder. You bury your head in Obi-Wan's neck, nearly weeping at the tension building in you. Qui-Gon is losing his rhythm, and you feel his cock swell within you as he nears his climax. "Forty-six ... forty-seven ... forty-eight ... forty-nine ... ah, Lezli ... ah, yes ... ah, __Force!__ " He shudders and fills you with hot liquid. The sensation pushes you over the edge, and you start to come in wave after wave of pulsing pleasure. As the master continues to thrust involuntarily, your hips push back to meet him. All thought of Obi-Wan is forgotten in your need to connect with your wondrous lover and master. 

When you come to your senses a moment later, you are pressed between a thoroughly sated Qui-Gon and a trembling, begging Obi-Wan. You realize the young man has still not had his release. His hands and mouth are all over you, everywhere he can reach, and his hips buck futilely against the hollow of your thigh, trying to get enough friction. His eyes are closed. "Oh, please ... I can't ... oh ... " 

Qui-Gon rolls off you, laughing softly. "I think he still needs to give you some discipline," he tells you, and you grin.  

You slide your body up along Obi-Wan's until you can capture his mouth in another deep kiss. He groans, and his hands shoot up to capture your head. In one swift move he has you on your back. He enters you in a single sure stroke, and you cry out in unexpected pleasure as he circles his hips expertly, stimulating your clitoris and the spot deep inside with each thrust. He drives relentlessly into you with tongue and cock until, with a scream you convulse in a tremendous orgasm that makes your whole body shake. He shifts onto his knees without breaking rhythm, then lifts your legs until your ankles rest on his shoulders. He drives deeply into you, over and over, deeper than you would have thought possible, and you can do nothing but tremble. He thrusts one last time, and with a great roar pours himself into you. His hips spasm, and his fingers dig into your thighs with bruising strength. He stays like that for what seems an eternity. At last he lets go and sits back, his softening cock sliding out of you. He falls limply to his side on the bed. 

"I hope you've learned your lesson," he pants. 

You laugh, and the master joins you, stretching out alongside you and stroking your flank. "I think that's enough lessons for today, children," he drawls. Obi-Wan leans over from the other side and gives you a tender kiss. "Thank you. I wish I could linger, but I've got to get ready." He rises and crosses to the door. 

"Padawan." 

Obi-Wan turns. "Yes, Master?" 

"Aren't you forgetting something?" 

"Master?" 

"Your boot polish, Obi-Wan." 

The apprentice's smile split into a cheeky grin, and you all start to laugh. 

END 

    


End file.
